Page 3 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

He was just trying to get a reaction. So I gritted my teeth and refused to give him one.

“That’s the rich, though. Think they can do anything.”

I kept my head down. Kept walking.

“You should consider telling yours.” Boyle cast his cigarette butt carelessly into the gutter. “Story, I mean.”

Startled, I stopped a moment. “Wait. What?”

Another of his scavenger’s grins. “Thought that’d get your attention.”

“Not in a positive way.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m trying to help you.”

“No,” I said firmly, “you’re not. You’re trying to exploit me.”

Normally, I cut through Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park on my way to the station—which probably sounds a bit morbid, but it was actually a lovely place, full of grass and stone and quiet, especially in the morning—but the prospect of Billy Boyle chasing me through a graveyard, or lurking there on future occasions, was absolutely horrendous. I turned onto Bow Common Lane instead, stifling a sigh when Boyle turned with me.

“Could you go away,” I said, figuring it was worth a shot. “Please?”

But the man was as relentless as a piece of chewing gum stuck to the sole of my shoe. “I’d get you one hell of a deal, Ardy. And it’d be classy. Sunday magazine classy. You should think about it.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Chance to tell your side of things. Completely sympathetic to your point of view. And of course, I’d make sure nothing too complicated got in the way of that.”

Wait.Complicated?I gave him an incredulous look. “Are you threatening me?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’d say”—he stroked his chin thoughtfully—“I’m acknowledging the infinite subtleties of human nature. I mean, you haven’t exactly been a saint, have you, mate? And a story like this—if we play our cards right—could be worth a couple of mil at least. Imagine that. You’d never have to work again.”

“No thanks.”

“Aw, come on, Ardy.” Boyle sounded genuinely bewildered—even a little hurt. “Why not?”

“Um, how about because I’m not a total shithead?”

There was a brief pause. And I thought he was going to give up, but no. He kept talking. “Do it for Ellie then.”

“Right. Because she’d really appreciate me making her brother the subject of public speculation.”

“Bit of payback for all the shit he’s put her through.”

That made me laugh—in a mean, sceptical sort of way. “You can’t really expect me to believe you’re doing this for Ellery and not the money.”

“Like I said”—he shrugged—“the infinite subtleties of human nature.”

I just rolled my eyes.

Boyle reached into an interior pocket of his brown leather jacket and pulled out a scrap of paper with something scribbled on it. “Take my number, at least.”

“Fine.” I didn’t actually want his number—or anything to do with him—but it was clearly the only way I was going to get rid of him.

“Don’t wait too long, yeah? You always want to be ahead of a story, not behind it.”

He was probably just digging. Trying to freak me out. Unfortunately it was borderline working. “What story? There’s no story.”

“Thought you were supposed to be a journalist.” He flashed his yellowing, pointy-toothed smile at me. “You should know by now, there’salwaysa story.”

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